Assassin
by LondonBelow
Summary: The Bohemians awake to find mysterious letters on their beds, inviting them to a game of Assassin. Paranoia and conniving ensue, but who started the game?


Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including the game 'Assassin' and anything else you recognize. This is just fun; there's no profit (other than the fun). "Sounds a bit dirty" is from an episode of Blackadder.

On timing: I intended this to be set during RENT, somewhere between Christmas and Valentine's Day.

* * *

Roger awoke. He sat up, tossed his legs over the side of the bed, and sat, too tired to move properly, wishing the air was warmer. Winter struck New York once more, and Roger Davis awoke wearing nothing but blue jeans. How had the bed been so warm… perhaps he could return to bed. Yes, that would do well, a long sleep. In fact, perhaps Roger would sleep all day. Perhaps--

"Stop letting the cold in!" Mimi mumbled. "'m still sleeping." She weakly waved him away, then pulled her arm back under the covers, turned away from Roger and pressed her head face into his pillow.

Seeing no alternative, Roger rose. He dressed warmly and quietly, a part of him wishing he had the self-assurance to wear turtleneck sweaters like Mark did. _No_, Roger told himself firmly. He lacked not only confidence but a turtleneck sweater. Vaguely he considered borrowing one of Mark's, but anything of Mark's would be too small for Roger. Realizing what he had just thought, Roger grinned. Too small. It sounded a bit dirty.

At the door, Roger turned briefly to watch Mimi. He did this every morning, completely unable to believe that he had this beautiful, perfect creature in his life. This particular morning, however, he was distracted by a white envelope lying on his side of the bed.

_My side? It's all my side. It's my bed, _Roger reminded himself. Nevertheless, he picked up the envelope and carried it into the next room. Roger's name was written on the envelope in bold black letters. "Hey, Mimi, is this from you?" he called.

"G'away… sleeping," Mimi replied.

Roger shrugged and ripped open the envelope. Inside he found a piece of paper explaining in non-descript handwriting:

_Mr Davis:_

Roger recoiled. No one had called him that since he graduated high school, and even then it had only been the principal who, with a heavy sigh, opened his file and said, "Mr Davis, for someone with test scores like yours…"

Shaking away the memory, Roger read on:

_You are cordially invited to partake in our game of Assassin. Your objective is simply to eliminate your target and avoid elimination yourself. To eliminate your target, tap him or her on the shoulder while you are alone with him or her. To avoid elimination, go nowhere alone._

_Good luck, Mr Davis._

_Your target is_

Then, in letters cut from magazines, ANGEL

Roger folded the letter. What was going on here? He knew how to play Assassin, of course, but who had started this game? And for what reason? Did Mimi and Mark have these letters, too? He stepped towards his bedroom to investigate, then paused. Mimi was waking up. What if he was her target? It seemed the perfect trap. No, the key was to avoid being alone.

_This is ridiculous. I'm not playing Assassin; I am no longer sixteen. Mimi probably made this up. A joke; she likes jokes._

Yet, Roger could not bring himself into the bedroom. Sighing at his own stupidity, he picked up a pan. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, and let the pan clatter noisily to the floor.

* * *

Sitting on her bed, wide awake first thing in the morning, Angel read her letter twice through, then laughed. "Hey, Collins?" she called, half echolocating. 

"Yeah?"

Next room. Angel appeared in the doorway seconds later. "Two questions: one, why all the pancakes? And two, did you get a letter?"

"I thought you said you liked pancakes."

"I do like pancakes." She settled herself opposite the stove. "It's just that I'm not used to having someone make them for me every day."

"I like cooking for you."

"I like eating. But every day… you don't have to do that."

"I'm used to it. It's kind of a comfortable habit." Collins had made more than his share of pancakes. Angel raised her eyebrows, so he continued, "Well, there aren't many foods that Mark, Roger, Benny and Maureen all agree on," he explained. "For example--Mark likes to keep kosher, Benny got more selective when he met Allison, Maureen is a vegetarian, and Roger--"

"Now, he seems like the type who would eat anything," Angel interrupted.

"Mostly, yes, so long as it contains neither peanut butter, corn or any form of raisin."

Angel giggled. "What about you?" she asked.

"After eating in the cafeteria at M.I.T., I don't care," Collins replied. "The students liked to say that they kept a rubber chicken farm. Actually… some of the freshmen believed that." He levered the last of the pancakes out of the pan and onto a plate, handed the plate to Angel and set the pan in the sink to soak.

Angel took a bite. "These have peanut butter in them," she observed. "Other than that… kosher, vegetarian and Benny… if he's too selective for pancakes, I think I feel sorry for him." She finished the pancake and grabbed another. "I don't care, as long as it's delicious."

"Yeah, Benny ate pancakes. And as for the peanut butter, it's different if it's melted, like in cookies or pancakes, but raw peanut butter in a sandwich or something actually scares Roger." Off Angel's disbelieving look, Collins explained, "He's afraid he'll choke. Anyway, what's this about a letter?"

"Oh." Angel swallowed a mouthful of pancake and picked up the letter. "Someone wants to play Assassin."

Collins reached into his pocket and drew out a folded envelope. "Maybe this is mine." He unfolded the envelope, opened it and took out the letter. In a moment he was laughing. "Yeah, that's it… I remember this game. They play it in the dorms."

"May I see?" Angel asked, reaching for the letter.

Collins handed it over. "And yours?" He scanned the letter for Angel's victim and breathed a sigh of relief that it was not his name in magazine letters at the bottom.

* * *

Mark leapt out of bed and raced into the kitchen, where he stopped dead in his tracks. Roger stood by the sink, holding a clean, dry pan. "Um… Roger?" Mark asked. He saw neither indication of any recent cooking or any intruder against whom Roger might employ the pan as a weapon. 

"What's going on?" demanded Mimi, arriving suddenly from Roger's bedroom.

Mark glanced at her, then muttered, "'Morning, Mimi," to the floor. Her scanty pajamas made him feel uncomfortable.

Roger set the pan down. "Did you get letters?" heasked. Off a moment of blank stares from the two, he said, "Check your beds. I had this when I woke up this morning." He held up the envelope as evidence.

"What's the letter say?" Mark asked.

"It says that I have been invited to play Assassin."

Mark frowned. "To play what?" he asked.

"Assassin," Roger repeated. "You know, the game?" Because Mimi and Mark continued to stare blankly, Roger sighed and explained, "Everyone gets a target. Then they try to kill their target by tapping them. The catch is that you both have to be alone for the murder. Oh, and someone is trying to kill you."

"Did you set this up?" Mimi asked.

"No!"

"Yeah, Roger doesn't have much of a playful side," Mark added. He knew this for a blunder when Mimi and Roger began snickering and avoided looking at one another. "Okay, okay. So maybe Roger did start the game."

Roger shook his head. "Not me. You guys should check for your letters. You must have them!"

At his urging, Mark returned to his bedroom and Mimi to Roger's. A moment later, Mark emerged with an envelope. "Is this--" he began to ask, but Roger backed away.

"You're not coming near me until Mimi's back," Roger said.

Mark shrugged and flopped onto the couch. He opened his letter and scanned the rules section, until his eyes came to rest on the name pasted at the bottom of the page. He groaned.

Mimi emerged from Roger's room looking depressed. "I didn't get one," she reported sadly. Mark and Roger gaped, but before they had a chance to answer, the telephone rang. All three took steps towards it, but stopped.

"We can't die," Roger said. "We're together, so we're safe."

Reassured, they clustered around the telephone, waiting for the answering machine. When Joanne's voice came across in the recording, Mark picked up the phone. "Hi, Joanne."

"Mark? Did you guys get weird letters, too? Maureen and I--"

"Roger and I did," Mark replied, "there were invitations on our beds." At the word invitation, Roger blinked to register his surprise. "Mimi didn't get one, though."

"Hey, that seems a little unfair. Wait, did she check her bed, or Roger's?"

Mark covered the receiver with his hand. "Joanne thinks you might find the letter at your place," he said.

Mimi nodded and headed for the stairs, but Roger grabbed her wrist. "How about we all go together?" he asked.

"You can't honestly think that I…" Mark began, but the look on Roger's face made it obvious that he believed exactly that. "Fine. We'll all go together."

"Mark?" Joanne asked. "Mark, are you there?"

"Yeah," he told her.

"We're meeting Angel and Collins for lunch at the Life. They have the same letters. You guys should join us. If you're still alive," Joanne added.

Mark laughed. "Yeah. We'll be there," he said.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Next chapter: To the life!

Reviews are always appreciated, especially since this is my first attempt at writing humor.


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